We don't say 'Elves'
by Galenfea
Summary: Dr. Jayne Ashwood thought her day couldn't get any worse, until 7 elflords with 13 hands between them burst into her son's classroom, and she is struck with the awful realisation that she's the only person who knows who they are. Complete!
1. 7 Elflords

Tolkien is a genius. I am not. Therefore, I am not Tolkien. Therefore, I do not own any characters that you may recognize, and am not making any money from this, so there's no point suing me anyway.

The scenario starts from a line in a film called 'The Santa Clause'. We watched it, and I reacted rather badly to the statement that elves were little people, so my mum joked, "Enter some number between one and seven inclusive of the howling sons of Feanor.' This started from that.

Enjoy!

…………………………..

Jayne scowled to herself. What a waste of her time! None of these children would want to do her job; she had been reliably informed by her son, Alfred, that they all thought she was nuts. There was a doctor up at the front talking now, all about the rewarding career of medicine. Jayne had a Dr. in front of her name, which sometimes led to confusion, but she simply had a PhD in History and its Influence on Literature. She wrote stories in her spare time, but mostly she just worked up at the university, researching, teaching and tutoring the students.

She became aware that the conversation had shifted.

"Does Santa make the toys?" a little girl asked shyly.

"No, stupid! The elves do!" cried a boy.

Jayne gritted her teeth and clenched her fists. Stupid children! But she had promised Alfie that she wouldn't make a scene about this. The teacher's remark, however, was something that she didn't intend to stand for.

"Bobby, we don't say 'stupid', and we don't say 'elves'; they're 'little people'."

Jayne started to get up in order to reorganize the teacher's ideas a bit, ignoring Alfie's pleading look.

She never got her chance, however, for at that moment the door burst open under a sturdy kick, and seven figures poured into the room.

Several children screamed, as did, to Jayne's disgust, a few of the adults. She simply bit her lip and went to stand by Alfie's desk. He grabbed her hand.

"Who are you?" asked the teacher, facing the leader of the group. He was very tall and imposing, with bright red hair. She looked him up and down and added, rather rudely, "_What_ are you?"

He looked at her a little oddly. "We are Elves."

"We don't _say_ elves," she replied, sticking to what she knew. "They're little people!"

"Little people?" He smiled and patted her on the head, using his left hand. He was about two feet taller than her. "Little people, brief mortal?"

"Well… we don't say elves."

"Very well… Quendi."

"Quendi?" breathed Jayne in great surprise. She looked sharply at the seven men, looking to see if maybe some of her students were playing a prank on her. She didn't recognize any of them.

"Calaquendi, to be precise," said one of the others, one with black hair and a slightly less belligerent expression than his fellows. She found herself smiling at the sound of his voice. It was a nice, musical voice.

"Noldor, to be even more precise," added another.

"The Elder Children Undying of Eru Illuvatar, if you want to be longwinded about it." Red-head looked around for a moment, taking in the crowded classroom. "You… wouldn't happen to have seen our Silmarils, would you?"

Jayne dived over towards the teacher before she could say anything stupid. She noticed with a shudder that the leader's right arm, which had been hidden before, ended in a stump.

"Just say no," she hissed in the teacher's ear. "Then they might go away!" She was seriously alarmed now. She didn't see how the seven sons of Feanor could be standing in her son's classroom, but she was taking no chances.

Her warning was ignored.

"Perhaps you'd like to share your Silmarils with the rest of the class?" suggested the teacher, sweetly.

Jayne smacked herself on the forehead. This could not be dealt with like a playground squabble! "The sons of Feanor do not share their Silmarils!" she hissed, still more urgently.

"Well, they should. Perhaps we could all sit down and discuss this."

"Nor do they discuss. Well… except Maedhros there. He makes an effort."

Thankfully, she seemed to have diverted the teacher's attention onto herself. She took her arm and drew her a little way away.

"They seem to have had a very strange upbringing. Did they come from a broken home?"

Jayne considered this. "Yes. And if you knew their father, you'd understand why."

"Why? What was wrong with him?"

"Well… how can I put this with all seven of his sons here and armed to the teeth? Uh… he was a genius and a brilliant leader, I'll grant you that, but he was also obsessive, compulsive, rebellious and ill-tempered."

"Oh dear," was the only response. Jayne rolled her eyes. "Did _he_ come from a broken home?"

Clearly, the light at the end of the tunnel was the headlights of an approaching train.

"Well, his mother died when he was a baby, and his father remarried, and he didn't get on with her –"

"Ah! So he had stepmother issues!"

" – or her two sons."

"Ah! Sibling rivalry issues! Perhaps he felt that his father had abandoned him?"

"He had no justification if he did; he was always very much his father's favorite. Mind you, he did once threaten to kill Fingolfin: one of his half-brothers. He chased him out of a council and pointed a sword at him, and said that 'This is sharper than thy tongue. If you try but once more to usurp my place and the love of my father it will rid the Noldor of one who seeks to be the master of thralls.' Yes, I think that's a correct quote."

The teacher eyed the security intercom, then clearly decided against it.

"But what about this lot? What happened to their parents?"

Jayne rolled her eyes again. "Well, their father left Valinor, and their mother didn't."

"So she abandoned them?"

"No! they left her to follow their father!"

"How old were they at the time?"

"Oh, all grown up."

"So this was quite recent?"

"No."

"But they aren't all that old now!"

"I don't have time for this," muttered Jayne, then told the teacher, "The Elder Children _Undying_ of Eru Illuvatar. They're practically immortal; it takes a long time for them to look any older. Believe you me, if they'd left Valinor recently, you'd have heard about it."

……………………

TBC 


	2. Maglor's harmonica

AN: Wow! Reviews! Does the Happy Frodo Chicken Dance Now to reply to them…

Nessa Ar-Feiniel: Yes, pretty silly.

Nora D: Glad you thought it funny! Some teachers can be real idiots… Terrible place in what way?

Jilian baade: Yes, that's rather what Jayne was worried about. Here's an update for you!

Napolde of the Council: And for you too! Yep, I'm afraid the teacher is that dumb. :)

Kiri: Oh good! There were other people who noticed it.

Unsung Heroine: That's one of my favorite lines too. The Sons of Feanor do not discuss!

Viya: Glad you like it, here's some more

Anon: Well, I'll try my best.

The Grammar Nazi: Yes, extreme assumptions… It's supposed to be a sort of career day, and in the film they were about seven, so that's the age I'm working with.

Okami11: Thank you!

And now, on with the story…

…………………………………………………………………………

When the two mortal women had turned away, Maedhros turned and looked at his brothers. What a mess. Amrod and Amras were hovering in the background; Maglor was inspecting a couple of instruments on a shelf in the corner; Celegorm and Curufin were whispering between themselves, plotting, no doubt; and Caranthir… Caranthir had found a cage containing a small furry animal, and was staring at it with considerable interest.

Maedhros pointed at him and told the twins, "You two try to keep him under control, while I –"

"Why is it always us?" Amrod interrupted.

"Why can't you keep an eye on him for once?" continued Amras. Maedhros closed his eyes for a moment. He hated it when they finished each other's sentences.

He elected to answer Amras' question. "Because I'm the eldest."

"All the more reason!" said Amrod indignantly. He folded his arms and put on an expression that gave Maedhros a rather unpleasant flashback to their father at his most stubborn. He shook his head to banish the mental image.

"No, I'm the head of the family. Besides, I'm trying to deal with this mortal." He gestured towards the two mortals, who were having a whispered but urgent-sounding conversation.

"Well why can't –" Amras began.

Maedhros forestalled him. "Turko and Kurvo are almost as bad as he is… In fact, they're worse, just more subtle."

"Hey!" cried one of them, probably Celegorm.

"Sad but true, I'm afraid. I can't ask Káno, he's too easily distracted." As if to prove his point, Maglor was poking through a pile of sheet music and didn't even look up. "And that leaves you two, and me. And, as I say, I'm trying to deal with this mortal."

"And," added Curufin, "You're the youngest, _and_ there's two of you." He rather pointedly turned his back on them. "Nelyo, could you just remind me what we're doing here?"

Maedhros took a rather deeper breath than was necessary. "Looking for the Silmarils," he said, in the calm and patient voice of someone who is sick of having to explain things.

"There can't be any Silmarils here!" cried Curufin, gesturing around at the painted walls, the rows of children, and the shelves filled with books or pot plants.

Maedhros had to admit that his younger brother had a point. He sighed heavily. "This looks like turning out like the utter palaver over that first one."

"Oh yes," said Curufin, "The one that the girl and the mortal managed to get." He turned and pointed an accusing finger. "It was all your fault, Turko."

Celegorm looked up in some surprise. "Why? What did I do?"

"Gave them your dog."

"I did not give them my dog, he switched sides without prior notice." Celegorm was scowling at the memory of that rather embarrassing incident.

"Stupid useless mutt, and he's got fleas!" snapped Curufin. Maedhros felt that he had every right to be bitter about it, as he had, after all, been the one being choked senseless while Huan stopped Celegorm from coming to his rescue.

"He has _not_ got fleas!" cried Celegorm.

"Something had fleas, we all got bitten. Perhaps it was Telvo…"

"I didn't bite you…" said Amrod, looking rather confused.

"No, I mean you had fleas!"

"I caught them from his dog!"

"My dog does not have fleas!" said Celegorm, in a slow, dangerous voice, stressing every word. After a moment's consideration, he added, "Or he hadn't when I last saw him, who knows what sort of state he's in now, hanging around with that mortal and the Dark-elf's daughter."

"I liked her…" said Curufin, smiling slightly at the memory of Lúthien.

"You'd like anything in a dress," said Celegorm scornfully. "You'd like _Orodreth_ if he put on a dress!"

"I would not!"

It was at that point, when Maedhros was just about to intervene and split up the squabbling brothers, that the first, and rather stupid, mortal decided to come and talk to them.

"Did you have therapy after you lost that hand?" she asked Maedhros, pointing to the stump of his right wrist.

For a moment, he searched for an answer, but as the question was incomprehensible and had taken him so by surprise, all he could muster was, "Pardon?"

"Well… counseling?"

"Oh! There were a lot of councils: how to get our Silmarils back, how to eradicate the orcs…"

"I liked the orcs," said one of the children, a small boy. "The elves were sissy."

There was a short, shocked silence.

"Who's responsible for him?" cried the second mortal woman, pointing to the boy. One of the mortals came over to him. "Right, keep him quiet unless you want us all killed. As for you, if you think that they are sissy, you need help."

The first mortal addressed Maedhros again, apparently determined to continue this rather uncomfortable line of questioning.

"No, I mean did you sit and talk about how you felt about it and…" she faltered, then tried a different approach. "How did it happen, anyway?"

"My cousin cut it off," Maedhros told her, keeping his voice carefully flat as he tried not to remember it, and ignoring the furious noise made by one of his brothers.

"That wasn't very nice of him…"

"Oh no…" muttered the second mortal, starting to come over.

"Whatever did he do that for?" the first continued

Here came the memories. Maedhros was aware that his voice was strained, but he still forced the words out as calmly as he could. This mortal was clearly mentally deficient. She knew no better. He had to be patient with her, even about such a dreadful subject. "I asked him to shoot me. Instead, he cut off my hand."

"Why did you ask him to shoot you?"

Maedhros closed his eyes tight as images flashed behind them. He remembered the agonizing pain through his entire arm and side as he hung helplessly from the cliff face. He remembered hearing Fingon's voice among the rocks, joining in the song, seeing him approach. He remembered begging his old friend to kill him, just to stop the pain.

"If you, mortal, had been hanging by your wrist from a cliff for however many years, and I doubt that you would survive the experience, you would also beg the first friend to come near you to kill you," he hissed, keeping his eyes tight shut and trying to banish the memories that still haunted him, remaining as clear as if Fingon had only found him yesterday, though it was so long ago…

Suddenly, the tension was split by a discordant screeching noise. It was one that Maedhros and five of his brothers immediately recognized, and cursed. The sixth brother was the one making the noise; Maglor had clearly found a piece that suited him, and so had got out his newest instrument: a harmonica. Everyone turned to stare at him. He stopped playing rather guiltily.

"Is there a problem?"

Maedhros began to wish that his mother had done the same as his grandmother: have one son, then pass to the Halls of Mandos.

"Káno, considering the very large variety of instruments that you can play, and play well, why did you have to bring a harmonica, which you can't play… at all?"

"I can fit it in my pocket. You told me to find an instrument that's portable!"

"That was only after you tried taking your harp on the bus. We were getting enough trouble as it was, what with Moryo calling the driver a servant of Morgoth!"

That had been a decidedly humiliating incident. They had just been trying to get onto the bus, but Maglor had insisted on bringing his harp. They had just been trying to get it aboard, when the driver had looked from it to the crowded bus, and said, 'You can't bring that on here.' 'Why not?' Maedhros had asked. 'Too big. There isn't room.' It might have all been sorted out amicably, had Caranthir not drawn his sword and cried, 'Peace, servant of Morgoth!' resulting in them being thrown off the bus. In a steaming temper, Maedhros had told Caranthir that he was no longer his brother, just some idiot that his – Maedhros' – mother had brought home. He had then made the 'bring something portable' comment to Maglor.

Maedhros emerged from his reverie to become aware that Maglor was speaking. "Besides, I have to learn to play the harmonica."

"May one ask why?" asked Maedhros, considering the hours of torment that this new hobby had inflicted on them.

"Daeron can play the harmonica! That's why everyone says he's a better musician than me!"

Oh. It was this old rivalry. Maglor just couldn't get over this.

"Well, I'm sure that you're a very good musician," said the stupid mortal in soothing tones.

"I am!" cried Maglor "But everyone names me second to that Dark-elf minstrel!"

Clearly, this was not the response that she had been expecting. Maedhros hid a smile. Perhaps she had thought that Maglor needed his ego boosting? Wrong! He was, after all, a son of Feanor.

"Well, perhaps he's just good in a different way, and in your own way, you're better than he is."

Maglor was having none of it. "My point: he can play the harmonica!"

"Since when was the harmonica a musical instrument, anyway?" asked the more intelligent-seeming of the two. Maedhros had to agree with her.

…………………………………………………………………………

Feanorion nicknames:

Nelyo: Maedhros  
Káno: Maglor  
Turko: Celegorm  
Kurvo: Curufin  
Moryo: Caranthir  
Pityo: Amras  
Telvo: Amrod


	3. Are you an orcling?

Annamariah: Thanks! Glad you think so!

Naz: #resurrects you# Yes, writing the brothers was brilliant fun! I don't think I'll ever think of them the same way again… especially not after the Orodreth line… ;P

Napolde of the Council: Well, as Jayne says, since when was the harmonica a musical instrument? They're impossible!

The Grammar Nazi: #Blushes# I'm honored that you've been watching it! Hey, you know Caranthir's the sort of guy that would make trouble like that… Sorry to shock you:D Well, here's more.

Okami11: #Also shudders# nasty thing… I feel his brothers' pain. Glad you enjoyed it!

Thunder Pichu: Brilliant! That's one of my favorites too! Hope it's not possible to actually die laughing, though… #nervous# The k's… I think that it was more the case that Tolkien replaced them with c's, with the exception of Tulkas and Kementari, so Caranthir would originally have been Karanthir. Ah well… #greetings from one geek to another ;)# Thank you for the Fav!

Arrina: Yikes! #Flees the lickiness of Carcaroth# all right! Here's an update! Glad you're enjoying it so much. :D

Shihali: Well, I'll do my best. I think it's mostly clueless kids here, though, I'm afraid.

Unsung Heroine: I know them too, and they usually are school teachers…

Anyway, on with the story!

………………………………….

Jayne winced as Maglor turned back to the copy of 'The Star-spangled Banner' that he had been trying to play. Surely there had to be some other instrument that he would be more interested in… She looked around, but she knew that he had already looked at the little collection of recorders and percussion instruments, and found nothing that interested him. Fortunately for the ears of all those present, one of the twins, the one with the redder hair, touched Maedhros' sleeve.

"Nelyo…" he said uncertainly.

"What?" asked Maedhros, looking round. The proceedings also distracted Maglor, who put his harmonica back in his pocket.

The other twin continued the sentence, gesturing towards a friend of Alfie's, called Sara. "This little girl keeps asking if we work for someone called… uh…" After a few tries he managed a passable imitation of the word 'Santa'

"Well tell her we don't."

"But all elves work for Santa!" protested Sara. "They help him make the toys!"

Jayne bit her knuckles, silently repeating 'OhMyGodWe'reGoingToDieOhMyGodWe'reGoingToDie…'

One of the Feanorians, presumably Celegorm, hissed, "Do you think that we are Naugrim?" And laid a hand on his sword. It looked like things were about to get very messy, but at that point the seventh brother spoke up. She presumed that this was Caranthir.

"Nelyo, I'm bored. Why can't we go and do something?" he complained bitterly, turning away from the cage with the guinea pig. So far, he had shown little interest in anything else.

"Well, what do _you_ suggest, little brother?"

"We should go and kill something."

She might have known. Caranthir was, after all, famed for picking fights with all and sundry, including the trees.

"There's nothing here to kill."

Caranthir grinned and pointed to the occupants of the rest of the room. "What about _them_?"

"Moryo, we have enough trouble as it is, without you going around killing innocent mortal children. I promise that we'll go and look for some orcs that you can kill after this, but until then…"

"What was wrong with the orcs? I thought that…"

This was clearly all the cue that Caranthir needed. He drew his sword and bore down on the boy with murder in his eyes and a yell of "Are you an orcling?"

"No!" yelled Jayne, springing forwards to stop him. "He's delusional. Leave him alone, please, Lord Caranthir."

Clearly, the 'lord' had been a good touch, for Caranthir subsided a little and lowered the sword, though there was still a dangerous expression on his face. Jayne didn't move a muscle. Fortunately, the face-off had given Maedhros time to catch up with his younger brother.

"Caranthir, give me the sword. Thank you. And the knife."

Caranthir hesitated, then handed over a long knife. Jayne could quite clearly see a second sheath half hidden under his cloak, out of Maedhros' sight.

"And the other knife."

This was handed over still more grudgingly, with a lot of muttering.

"Sticks and stones, Moryo." He raised an eyebrow as Caranthir went to turn away, and said coolly, "And the bow… and the arrows."

"No room to shoot in here anyway."

"So they're not much use to you, are they?" said Maedhros. But when Caranthir didn't make any move to unbuckle the strap that held his bow and quiver, he added firmly, "Give them to me."

Jayne caught a movement out of the corner of her eye and turned to see the teacher heading for the security intercom. Clearly the realization of how heavily armed this elf-lord that had just run at one of her pupils with the intention of killing him was the last straw.

"_Don't_," snapped Jayne, grabbing her wrist just as she reached for the intercom.

"Well, I really think that for the sake of the children…" said the teacher, sounding flustered.

Jayne finished the sentence. "We shouldn't court trouble? Look; at the moment I think Maedhros has much the same aim as me in that he also wants everyone out of here alive, including us. If you call security that constitutes a threat and the number of people he will want out of here alive will shrink to seven: himself and his brothers. And I think he might be prepared to negotiate on the latter. Further: what armor do your security men wear?"

The teacher looked strangely at her. "None."

"They'll be dead before they get through the door, then. You see Celegorm, there? He can put a knife through an ash sapling at a hundred paces. Ever seen the size of an ash sapling?" Jayne held her hands about an inch apart to demonstrate the width of an ash sapling. "Not very wide. Amrod and Amras? The twins? Well, they're not called the hunters for nothing. Maedhros can wield his sword in his left hand as well as he ever could in his right. And you saw the weapons he took off Caranthir. They will _all_ be armed that heavily, except that Maedhros doesn't carry a bow, for obvious reasons, and bear in mind that those were just the weapons he had to hand, which will not include the knives he's probably got in his boots."

"But carrying concealed weapons is an offence!"

Jayne stared at her. And the state had put this woman in charge of the education of her son? "And?" she said coolly, "Your point? _Caranthir_ is an offence! And another thing: Six of these brothers are known to be dead."

"But they're…" She flapped a hand in the direction of the Feanorions. Caranthir and Maedhros were in the middle of a dispute over what Caranthir was and was not allowed to kill or maim. Maedhros was just telling Caranthir that no, he was not allowed to cut off the ears of the annoying little orc-loving boy.

"Exactly. They're right there. Which, quite apart from the fact that if your security men shot them it might have absolutely no effect, presents a serious problem: if _they_ are known to be dead and yet are wandering around America, _who else_ that's known to be dead might be wandering round America? I'm thinking cousins… uncles… _father_."

She clsed her eyes for a moment to banish the image of what havoc Feanor could wreak.

"Look," said Sara's mother, coming over. "I have a cell phone right here. I'll call the police."

"You do and I'm not going to be held responsible for the consequences!" hissed Jayne, trying to keep her voice down. "Look, I have a kid here too. Do you honestly think I'm going to act in a way that will risk his life? If so: you and me, outside, when this is sorted."

It was not the first time that she'd challenged someone to the field of honor over something to do with the Silmarillion. She just hoped that nobody would say anything stupid.

"Do you know Leggy?" said a voice, cutting suddenly though the tense silence.

'Like that,' thought Jayne.


	4. Elrond: Halfmortal scritling

Unfortunately, I've been informed that replying to reviews contravenes the 'not using the review system as a message board' rule. #cries# Just want to say, though, that I appreciate each and every one of the reviews and treasure the lot!

But here's the next installment. Apologies for its lateness.

I still don't own any of the sons of Feanor, or their various relatives.

……………………

"Leggy?" repeated Maedhros, unsure if he had heard correctly. "You want to know… if we know someone… called _Leggy_?"

"Yes!" the girl smiled up at him. "My big sister's got all these posters in her room of an elf, and she says he's not an elf that helps Santa, so I thought that as you were elves that don't help Santa, you might know him." She then added helpfully, "She kisses all the posters every night before she goes to bed and says 'Good night, Leggy-lu-lu," and says that he's going to marry her one day. Will he?"

Maedhros turned to his brothers. For once at a loss for words, he simply repeated, "Leggy!" Then, after a moment, elaborated to, "Well, I don't know anyone by that name, how about the rest of you?"

The answers were unanimously negative.

"And," added Curufin, "If the sister's half as strange as she sounds and this 'Leggy' has half the sense that Eru gave him, the answer to the last question is a resounding 'no'."

"No need to be like that." But his heart wasn't in it, for Maedhros was inclined to agree. He thought it over again.

"You won't know him," said a female voice. He turned to see the more sensible of the mortal women. "His real name is Legolas, son of Thranduil, son of Oropher. After your time."

"Thank you." Maedhros nodded. "I have heard the name Oropher, but not those of his kinsmen."

The mortal turned to the little girl. "Legolas is too young for them to know him, I'm afraid, Lily."

Not to be put off, Lily asked, "Do you know Elrond, then? He's really old!"

Now that was a name that rang a bell. Maedhros was about to say as much when Maglor smiled and told the girl that yes, he and Maedhros had known Elrond, and his brother Elros.

Maedhros frowned a little at the name Elros. He had spent several weeks nursing a bite from the little wretch.

"Little scritlings," he muttered. Maglor had been very fond of the peredhil, but Maedhros wasn't so sure. He had had quite enough of small children while his brothers were growing up.

"But Elrond's an elf lord!" protested the girl.

"He is not, he's a half-mortal scritling!" answered Maedhros crossly. "Only half Elven, and that half is Sindarin!"

The mortal woman opened her mouth to correct him as to the ancestry of Elrond's father in particular, then apparently thought better of it. He knew perfectly well that Eärendil was half Noldo, and didn't appreciate being reminded.

"And less of the 'really old'," he said. "Last time I saw him…" Maedhros measured a height on himself: just above his waist. "He was this tall."

"Well, Nelyo," said Curufin, "There are a sizable number of elves that are not much taller than that against you."

This was true, Maedhros reflected. He was not surnamed 'the tall' for nothing.

"Do you know the scary lady in the wood?" piped up yet another child.

"Who?"

"Do you mean the Dark-elf's wife? Melian?" asked Celegorm, speaking her name with slightly more respect in his tone than he had used for her consort's epithet. After all, she was of the Miar.

The child gaped at him. Apparently not.

"She had blonde hair and went all green and glowy and talked in a spooky voice," she said hesitantly.

Once again, the brothers looked at one another, out of their depth.

" 'Green and glowy and talked in a spooky voice'?" echoed Curufin, raising an eyebrow. "Is there anyone of that rather… unique description among our acquaintance?"

"She means Galadriel," came another translation from the sensible, if nameless as yet, mortal.

It took Maedhros a moment to recognize the Sindarin form of the name, and by that time Amras, who had picked up on these things a lot faster, had spoken.

"Oh, her!"

"She's our cousin," finished Amrod.

"Little tale-bearer!" That could only be Caranthir.

"Moryo," snapped Maedhros, "What have I told you about referring to the children of Finarfin as tale-bearers? Get into the habit now, and you'll be less tempted to do it to their faces!" Caranthir had caused a lot of bad feeling with that particular comment, and it had taken a lot of fast talking for Maedhros to get everyone involved even on speaking terms again, and that was with all of them up in Mithrim, separated from their kin. Even months later, Angaráto had wanted a formal apology from Caranthir, and had only been prepared to talk to a Feanorian at all through one of his brothers.

"Well they are! And she's the worst; she only ran off and _married_ one of them!" Caranthir said the word 'them' like it was a curse, and Maedhros rolled his eyes again.

"She's not bothering you, then, is she? Drop it!" Maedhros had tried proper reasoning, but Caranthir _just didn't listen!_

'Holy Stars,' he thought, 'The fuss Moryo makes about Artanis' marriage to that Sinda, you'd think that _he_ had desired her for his wife!'

……………………….

Angaráto: Angrod  
Artanis: Galadriel


	5. Fuzzy

I must apologize to all those who want a cameo appearance from Feanor himself. He will, I am very sorry to say, not be appearing, amusing though it might be. I do intend, however, to write some sort of epilogue to this story, and I promise that he will make at least a brief appearance then.

I still own nothing that is Tolkien's, much as I'd like just a _snifter_ of his genius.

……………………………………….

Jayne had listened with some interest to the conversation concerning the other descendants of Finwe, silent apart from the occasional interruption in order to allay confusion. She was watching Maedhros and Caranthir when she suddenly heard a clatter from the far corner. All heads, including hers, turned towards it.

They saw an open cupboard door with the back end of a son of Feanor poking out of it.

"Turko?" said Maedhros, raising an eyebrow. "What are you doing?"

Celegorm emerged, a little red in the face and a cobweb in his hair, clutching an armful of copies of 'My First Reader'. Jayne did not like that book, and watched with some satisfaction as the Noldo dumped his burden unceremoniously on the floor next to the box of poster paints.

"I am looking for the Silmarils," he said, with the air of one stating the blindingly obvious.

Maedhros raised the other eyebrow.

"Turko, let us open our minds to a new concept, and look at this logically, shall we?" he said sweetly, or as sweetly as someone so clearly fed up can. "These things _glow_. That cupboard was not sealed, you could easily have seen whether there was anything glowing in there."

"They could have been in a box," asserted Celegorm stubbornly, turning to return to his search.

"Turkafinwë!" Maedhros' voice rose almost to a shout. Celegorm spun round, stumbling to land with his back against the wall. Jayne also took a few steps back. Maedhros still bore his sword and she always kept in mind that this was a kinslayer that she was dealing with. "Have you any idea what happens to anything that touches a hallowed Silmaril?" asked Maedhros, more quietly now. "Any idea at all?"

Celegorm blinked. Jayne bit her lip and the teacher asked, "What?"

"This." Maedhros raised his hand, palm out. The palm and fingers were covered with scars.

The teacher screamed. "Goodness! Whatever happened? Did you see a doctor about that? And your only hand too!" She darted over to look, but visibly shrank away with revulsion. "What happened?"

"That," said Jayne softly in her ear, coming up behind her and pulling her firmly away. "Is what happens when someone not entitled to one touches a Silmaril."

She had turned her back on the sons of Feanor, but spun round again when she heard Curufin shout after her.

" 'Not entitled to one'?" he echoed, " '_Not entitled_'? Presumptuous mortal! They were the work of _our_ father and they are _ours_!"

Jayne took an angry step forwards. She didn't like Curufin. "Tell that to the ones among you that tried to handle them!" she yelled back. "You _were_ entitled to your father's peerless jewels, but lost your right to them with your many and pitiless deeds! The Kinslaying of Alqualondë; the death of Dior in Doriath; the attack on the Havens at the Mouth of Sirion! Need I say more?"

She had seen a sort of shudder pass across the faces of Maedhros and Maglor as she listed the kinslayings, and even as she drew breath she knew that she had gone too far. All this time carefully negotiating, and she had thrown it away with one stupid outburst. She clenched her teeth as she saw Curufin, eyes narrowed in anger, reaching for his sword.

Then Maedhros' hand landed on his shoulder.

"_Á tyelë, toron_," he said softly, continuing to speak to his brother in Quenya as Jayne turned to the teacher.

"What was all that about?" she asked softly, shooting a wary look at the Feanorians.

"Long story," answered Jayne. "What does the word 'kinslaying' mean to you?"

"That they've been killing their families."

"In the case of Curufin, yes, but it was accidental. He and his father nearly burned Amrod alive. I'll tell you later."

"Why haven't they been arrested?"

"They're dead." Jayne smiled. "The pain of holding a Silmaril drove Maedhros to commit suicide."

"So why are they still looking for them?" the teacher's voice rose high and shrill.

"We swore an oath," said Maedhros, looking hard at her, having finished lecturing Curufin.

Behind his back, Curufin was continuing the ransacking of the cupboards, while Celegorm had decided to start hunting in the waste paper bin. Pointedly ignoring the scuffling and rustling from behind him, Maedhros continued to address the teacher, parents and awe-stricken class. A couple of boys in the corner were whispering to one another about finding out if they could get cool scars like Maedhros had, but the rest were listening, wide-eyed and –eared.

"We have to keep searching for the Silmarils until all three are back in our possession. We swore, and if we do not keep our oath then the Everlasting Darkness awaits us."

"Whose idea was that, anyway?" asked Caranthir, turning back to the rest of the room from renewed inspection of the Guinea pig.

"Father's," answered Maedhros.

"But who said we all had to swear too? Look what trouble it's caused! Why did we do it?"

"Father." A small smile twitched the corners of Maglor's mouth as he spoke. The one word seemed fit, in his eyes, to answer all questions.

"We could have told him no," said Curufin, emerging from the back of the cupboard, whence he had just unearthed several hideous paintings.

"_You_ might have got away with that," snapped Caranthir. "You were always his favorite."

Curufin smirked.

"Does this mean," said a small boy, "That daddy _isn't_ always right?"

"Yes!" said the sons of Feanor, while the teacher let out a whimpering noise and shot an apologizing look at the various fathers who were now glaring at her for letting the children get that idea. However, she could not deny it without condoning the things that Feanor had got his sons to do through the oath.

"Especially," said Amrod softly, looking hard at Curufin, "When he's going round…"

"Burning boats," continued Amras.

"Without checking…"

"If there's anyone inside!"

"Right, Kurvo?" finished Amrod.

"Telvo, I apologized enough times, didn't I? It was nothing _personal_!" cried Curufin.

Sara's mother was back. "He burned a boat with his brother still inside?"

"Well, he helped his father to do so."

"I'm calling the police." She took out her phone and started to dial 911. Jayne snatched it.

"Don't call the police! How many times?"

"Miss Ashwood…"

"Doctor."

"Doctor Ashwood, then. These men are clearly criminally insane!"

"And dead." Jayne smirked. "I'll give you this back later." She turned away, still holding the phone. "After all," she added over her shoulder, "They're not as crazy as Túrin. None of them has married his sister."

"Married his _what_?"

Jayne ignored this and returned her attention to the sons of Feanor. Maedhros was extracting Celegorm from the waste paper bin, and instructing Amrod and Amras to go and deal with Curufin, who had just reached the back of the first shelf and was preparing to move on to the second. Realizing the distraction of his eldest brother, Caranthir had returned to his inspection of the guinea pig. Jayne watched rather nervously as he opened the door to the cage and stuck a hand in.

She needed to think of a distraction, for either the children or Caranthir.

Fortunately, his brothers decided to provide one.

"I am _not_ daddy's pet!"

"No, no, he only named you after himself."

"Well…" Curufin paused. "That was him."

"And it was him that hung around in the forge all day, every day, as soon as he was big enough?" asked Maglor, raising an eyebrow. He put on a silly, childish voice. " 'Oh, _Atar_, that's wonderful. Oh, _Atar_, will you teach me how?'"

"Wouldn't surprise me," reasoned Celegorm, standing by his partner in mischief making.

"They need counseling," said the teacher in Jayne's ear.

Jayne sighed. "Yes, Feanor's family is among the most dysfunctional in Middle Earth or the Blessed Realms, but _no, they do not need counseling!_" She paused for a moment, then added, "They're past that stage."

A yell of anger made them look over, and they saw that Caranthir had just withdrawn his hand from the cage and was nursing a bleeding finger.

"Moryo?"

"The little spawn of Morgoth! It bit me!"

"Fuzzy isn't a spawn!" cried one of the children, "He's a guinea pig!"

"Doesn't look much like a pig to _me_." Caranthir stuck his hand in again. Fuzzy sniffed him.

Maedhros rolled his eyes. "If we've all _quite_ finished making fools of ourselves," he said coolly to the others, "Shall we go? It's clear that we won't find our Silmarils here." On the word 'our' he shot Jayne a glance. She looked back just as hard and a small smile of grudging respect touched the corners of his lips. "I don't believe I've asked your name, mortal."

"Jayne Ashwood. I know yours already, Maedhros Feanorion."

He bowed his head a little, ignoring the fact that, behind him, Celegorm was pointedly tapping his foot.

"Can we take the creature with us?" Caranthir asked suddenly. He had extracted Fuzzy from his cage and was now holding him, surprisingly gently.

"You want to take that?" said Maedhros suspiciously, "Why?"

"It's cute."

There was a pause.

"Are you feeling all right?"

"Of course I am! Why?"

"You have never, in Valinor, Middle Earth, the Halls of Mandos, or back here in Middle Earth, over the course of two – count them: two – lives, never, ever referred to anything as cute. Never."

Caranthir looked rebellious.

"Can he take Fuzzy?" whispered Jayne.

"But Fuzzy's the class guinea pig!" protested the teacher.

"I think they might be about to leave. I'll get the class a new guinea pig."

The teacher considered it, then she turned to the class and asked, "Well, class, shall we let Caranthir take Fuzzy with him?"

There was silence.

"It would be a very nice thing to do. He's never had a pet."

At last, there was a grudging chorus of "All right."

"Thank you," said Jayne, and meant it with all her heart. "Yes, Caranthir, you may take the guinea pig."

Caranthir grinned wolfishly and perched Fuzzy on his shoulder, keeping a hand on him to stop him jumping down. Jayne comforted herself with the knowledge that the Noldo seemed quite fond of Fuzzy, and it wasn't as though life could get much worse than being a class pet. Maedhros nodded to the occupants of the classroom, and then he and his brothers left, their voices echoing down the corridor, then fading away.

"Are they gone?" asked the teacher, a little faintly.

Jayne went to the door and stuck her head out, looking both ways. She frowned. It was a long, bare corridor, but there was no sign of seven first age elf-lords. Nowhere.

"Yes…" she murmured. "They're… gone."

……………………………………………

And that, as far as the main story goes, is that. I do plan to write an epilogue, if it is wanted, and I apologize for the long time it took to get this uploaded.

Incidentally, '_Á tyelë, toron'_ should mean, 'Stop, brother.' But my knowledge of Quenya is almost non-existent, so corrections would be gladly received.


	6. Epilogue

I still don't own anyone apart from my OC's (And you can have the teacher if you want her) and my profoundedest apologies to Celegorm and Curufin!

This chapter is rather bitty, as it's basically an amalgamation of different ideas we had. I've tried my best to put it into some sort of order, but it's in bits and pieces. Hope it's not impossible to follow!

SSSSSSSSSSSS indicates the start and end of flashbacks.

………………… indicates the start and end of sections

…………………

A few days later, Jayne got the class a new guinea pig, as she had promised. The day that she delivered it, Alfie came home to announce that he thought she'd like the name they chose for it.

"Really?" she asked. "What was it?"

"Well," he replied, "I expected another Fuzzy, but…

SSSSSSSSSSSS

"So, class," said the teacher, retrieving the new guinea pig from under her desk and putting him back in his cage. "What shall we call the new guinea pig?"

There was a pause.

Then a voice from the back called, "Caranthir!"

Alfie twisted round in surprise. It was the boy who had said before that he liked orcs and that Caranthir had nearly killed. Under their stares, he added, "He was cool!"

SSSSSSSSSSSS

The guinea pig turned out to be quite friendly, and not at all like his namesake.

………………

Over the next few weeks, several people noticed a marked change in the games played by the boys in that particular class. At first glance, it was the usual chasing-one-another-with-sticks, but they were wielded as swords, rather than pointed with appropriate 'pow!' sound effects.

And one would always stretch his right sleeve over his hand, and carry his stick in the left hand, even if he was right handed.

When asked, they would natter away about who they were supposed to be, but the names were unfamiliar to many of the teachers and parents that asked. The idea that they were hunting orcs quite clearly came from Lord of the Rings, but the names… there were no Legolases here, no Aragorns. It was always 'Maedhros' or 'Celegorm' or 'Amras'.

Very strange indeed.

As time went by, people also began to notice that the teacher was growing increasingly nervous. The next year, a child that asked about Santa's elves reported that the teacher had made a little whimpering noise and glanced at the door, before saying in shaky tones that, well, not _all_ elves worked for Santa.

……………………

This, however, was all into the future. A few weeks after the appearance of the Seven Sons of Feanor, Jayne's phone rang.

"Hello?" she said, readying the Doom of Mandos in case of Salesmen. It was funny how fast they hung up when she recited the bit about _Slain ye may be and slain ye shall be_.

"Doctor Ashwood?" It was Alfie's teacher. Jayne felt almost disappointed as she put The Silmarillion down.

"Yes, what is it?"

"_They came back_!"

Jayne raised an eyebrow. She could easily guess who '_they_' were. Well, if the teacher was making panicky phone calls, everything had clearly gone all right.

"Which ones? All of them?"

"No, just four."

"OK, which four?"

"The one you kept talking to, with only one hand, the one that took Fuzzy, and the ones that were rifling around in the cupboards."

"Maedhros, Caranthir, Celegorm and Curufin." Well, it could, conceivably have been worse. They might not have had Maedhros with them. "So what exactly happened. Take a deep breath and tell me the details."

"Well, it was very strange…

SSSSSSSSSSSS

There was a tentative knock at the door.

"Come in!" the teacher called, absentmindedly.

The door was pushed open and she looked up, then screamed, leaping behind her desk to hide.

"It's all right!" said Maedhros, waving his hand in a placating gesture as he came in. "I've brought them back." Three of his brothers joined him, one kicking the door shut behind him. All three of them looked decidedly mutinous. "And," said Maedhros firmly, "They're _very_ sorry."

Silence. The teacher tried not to hyperventilate. Maedhros elbowed The one that took Fuzzy, muttering, "Moryo!"

Caranthir stepped forwards and muttered, "I'm sorry for all the trouble I caused, especially scaring the delusional little boy, and I promise to take good care of Fuzzy." He spoke as though reciting a lesson learned by heart.

"Right," said Maedhros, and continued in firm tones, "Now go and wait outside the door…" He pointed. "_Where I can see you_!"

Caranthir left and went to lean against the wall outside the open door.

"Now you two."

The other two glanced at one another, at Maedhros, at the teacher, and at the floor.

"Go on!"

Slowly and resentfully, the two elves began retrieving from their pockets several small objects that had been missed over the last couple of weeks, and placing them on the teacher's desk. When they had returned several pencils and erasers, a paintbrush and one of the rakes from the sandpit, they stopped and stood with folded arms and closed faces.

"Is that all?" asked Maedhros, raising an eyebrow.

After a pause, Curufin put a pot of play-doh on the desk.

"Turko?"

Celegorm retrieved another pencil from his boot.

"That's the lot?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Well, there was all that stuff we got in that room on the way out…"

Maedhros sighed, casting his eyes skyward. "What is it with you two and cutlery?" He grimaced at the teacher and confided, "You can't take these three _anywhere_ without having to go back, apologise, and _return the cutlery_!"

He bowed to her, the herded his brothers out. She could hear his voice raised in reproach and complaint all the way down the corridor in the direction of the canteen, though she couldn't make out the words; they were in a foreign language.

Now that she thought about it, she did remember the canteen supervisor complaining that numerous items of cutlery had gone missing in the last couple of weeks.

SSSSSSSSSSSS

… And they just vanished off down the corridor," the teacher finished.

Jayne nodded, stifling her laughter behind a hand. This was not the image most people pictured when they thought of the fearsome kinslayers.

"Well, I think I can safely say that you should have seen the last of them."

………………………

"Honestly," muttered Maedhros, storming along the deserted corridor. "I do not understand what sort of crazed fetish you two have for cutlery. Ever since…" He glanced back at them. "Do you _realise_ how much explaining father and I had to do that time? Manwe's _best_ cutlery, which _Aule_ made for him, on the instructions of _Varda_, for their _anniversary_! And what do you two do?"

Curufin said something breathless. Maedhros' superior height came from long legs, which gave him a very fast walk. His brothers were almost running.

"Only go and steal it!" Maedhros answered his own question. "It's like being the brother of a pair of magpies. I'm surprised that there was anything left for Glaurung, after you two had been through Nargothrond."

"Well," said Celegorm, "Under the circumstances…"

"I've spoken to you about that before. Only be grateful that I didn't send the pair of you back in person to apologise. For once it wasn't Moryo. Fortunately for you both I do value you enough not to want you shot dead by Nargothrond's archers."

"Thanks," drawled Curufin.

"You're welcome." Maedhros looked around. "Where did you get that cutlery, anyway?"

"Down here." Celegorm led the way. Maedhros soon overtook him.

"If father had known you half as well as I do, he wouldn't have dragged us all the way to Middle-earth without first making the pair of you turn out your pockets!"

"But we were out riding with you at the time!" cried Curufin, getting the reference.

"Hasn't stopped you before."

………………………

Two years after the incident, when most people had forgotten the strange stories that had circulated for a while, (including the attorneys of one woman that had tried to sue the school after, allegedly, seven armed madmen had burst into the classroom and tried to murder her son), there was a news story concerning the school.

Alfie had left by this time; Jayne had decided that she was tired of teachers she considered semi-literate and had found him a new school. Nonetheless, she was shocked and horrified when she turned on the evening news bulletin and heard that the school had been burned down by an unknown arsonist.

Apparently the man, described as being tall, with black hair, dressed in a medieval-type costume complete with chain mail and weapons, had entered a class in the middle of a lesson and demanded "Some things that he called 'sill mar ills'. He had escaped the security guard that had been called in to remove him pending the arrival of the police, then had set fire to one of the basement storerooms. Fortunately, the school had been speedily evacuated and nobody was hurt. The police were calling for anyone who might know anything about the man's identity and whereabouts to contact them.

Jayne turned off the television and took a long sip of coffee.

She, of course, recognised the description, and briefly considered going to the police, but decided against it. The idea of telling a sceptical policeman that this crime had been committed by a fictional character did not appeal; they'd never, ever take her seriously.

"Curufinwe Feanaro," she muttered. "Mostly known as Feanor."

………………………

"I wouldn't mind so much," muttered Maedhros. "But we didn't go anywhere near the canteen."

THE END

………………………

Thanks loads to all my lovely reviewers!

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